Written on Thrown Away Napkins
by MufuMufuSan
Summary: Unfinished ideas, stories, drabbles, and whatever, that are KHR/HP based. Surprisingly, I have a lot of them, so much so- that it's kind of sad, haha. Some of these ideas are DARK, so warnings will be before each story. If you have an idea, or request, tell me and I might consider it.
1. Unrequited? SkullHarry

Written on Thrown Away Napkins

 _Unrequited...?_

 _This story isn't edited in any way, shape, or form._

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own HP, KHR, or any of its wonderful characters.

 **Characters:** Skull, Harry Potter, Reborn.

 **Warnings:** Major character death. Suicide mention. Some blood mention; gore. Very dark vibes. SLASH. MOD!Harry. Pre!Arcobaleno.

 **A/N:** I finally decided to start one of these stories that is just filled with unfinished ideas, and just... vague typing, haha. I have a whole archive of unfinished one-shots and drabbles, and ideas for stories, it's- kind of sad. So I decided to release them, and the first one- is kind of dark, haha. I've been wanting to write a Skull/Harry fic for awhile, but I didn't really capture the exact feel I had wanted so I gave up on it.

So here it is.

Enjoy!

* * *

Skull had once met the wholly unimpressed Master of Death.

Needless to say, it was love at first sight.

-0-0-0-

Skull didn't meet the Master of Death as Skull. He had met him under a different name, a different life; he was someone who had died that day, and will never see the light of day again. Skull was fine with that, he didn't mourn his past self, nor did he really care that much about that. He had changed his name, changed his look, and just for the chance of seeing what he had presumed was death himself- he chose the career of stunt riding.

It was a very dangerous career for someone as reckless and loud as him.

And he was fucking _good_ at it. Not to toot his own horn, or anything, but fuck it! He was fucking amazing! Skull reveled in the fact, and was slightly disappointed. But that was mostly due to the fact that if he was so good at what he had chosen to do, then he couldn't die as easily as he wanted without it appearing as intentional suicide.

Surprisingly, it wasn't his stunt riding that eventually killed him a second time.

It was the world's greatest hitman.

Skull was going for a ride in one of the more roomy city states in Italy, intent on musing over his brief encounter with death, and wondering how he could go about meeting him in such a simple way. It was all ruined when someone emerged from the shadows, pressed the tip of a gun to his lower back, and hissed at him to drive.

So drive Skull did.

It ended in disaster, by the way.

Not the driving part, god forbid Skull ever suck at that. But the part that came after, when Skull had finally deemed it safe enough to stop and the guy behind him let out a low and disgruntled sigh. He was about to turn to ask if the guy was alright, after the guy had jumped of the seat and brushed himself off.

"Be grateful," the man interrupted whatever Skull was going to say, making him bite his words back. "Not many get a chance to help me," the man sneered, making Skull bristle slightly.

"I should be saying that," Skull insisted, loudly. He jumped off his bike after he turned it off, making sure to pocket his keys lovingly. "The great Skull-sama is super generous for letting you hitch a ride, heathen!"

The arrogant man's visage darkened. It was almost impressively scary with how his expression turned even more murderous, the fedora that had somehow stuck onto his head shadowing the upper-half of his face. Skull would have felt more nervous and a bit cowardly, but something about this dude rubbed Skull the wrong way. He felt a bit foolish himself for thinking about actually being nice to this prick, thus this edgelord's full on treatment of the almighty _Skull-sama_.

Skull-sama.

Didn't that just sound _awesome_?

Idiotically awesome, in Skull's opinion. Which was great, it was what he was going for in this persona. Idiotically brave, brave due to stupidity, cocky and young. _In love_ , Skull added the last part quietly, jaded green eyes underneath feathered dark hair flashing in his mind. Almost like a ghost, death was, pale, never really even there. Something akin to smoke, slipping through Skull's fingers, the hot air brushing past his skin. It made him realize how cold he actually felt, a chill that never left his bones. _Touched by death_ , the superstitious fortune teller at one of his circus events told him. _You're either very lucky, or unlucky_.

Skull considered himself both.

Especially when the gun was back- ah, yeah, it was totally pointing at his helmeted face. Skull sweatdropped, the prickling of cold sweat dripping down his back underneath the tight black leather that was his outfit. He had to wonder what the hell this dude's problem and lifestyle was for him to be able to point that thing at him without any trembling, and with no hesitation, annoyance flickering across his expression.

"Awesome toy," Skull told him, just to sell it home that he was a fucking idiot.

The man's face didn't look like he needed much help in believing that fact, luckily. "This isn't a toy," he announces, succinctly. Almost slowly. Skull twitched, slightly. "Do you want me to demonstrate?"

Skull considered his options.

Believe it or not, dying once and coming back to life left one incredibly apathetic about that part of life. And towards the rest of life, in general. Skull was already reckless as his past self, his death had only solidified it and left him with a goal to meet death once again. Captivating and inhuman death, with pretty eyes and feathered hair, almost appearing to him like an angel in the darkness that was his first death. Something ragged and broken in his eyes, something torn in his tilted smile. Someone who looked so incredibly lost and alone, and someone that had connected and touched Skull in such a way that left him breathless.

 _Someone just like him_.

"Sure, why not," Skull shrugged, lightly. His voice still carried that cocky enthusiasm, which he grew to love. The man only smirked, something that only added to his charmingly dark and handsome face, making Skull's opinion of him lower slightly.

Skull was always slightly envious of those who appeared better than him, and had the confidence to uphold it. His confidence- wasn't a facade, per say. But he saw it as something that justified the means, something to really sell the fact that Skull, the Skull he became, was an overly confident and egotistical idiot with a boyish charm. Skull, in his past life, never thought himself as 'confident'.

In his past life, he was 'okay'.

Just okay.

Skull briefly wonders what his past self would say to him now, if they could meet. He'd probably be crazy in his past self's eyes, flabbergasted and unbelieving that Skull was himself in the future. Which was fair, considering that Skull considered his past self crazy in _his_ eyes. How could he had lived without dying? How could he have lived such an 'okay' life without meeting death?

So yeah, his past self is dead, and Skull couldn't bring himself to mourn him.

Where was he again? Oh, right. Gun. Pointing at his face. _Riight_.

It cocked ominously. Heh. _cocked_.

"You won't actually shoot," Skull declares, a brief flare of anticipation stringing his gut tight. His fingers curl and uncurl at his sides, and his helmet felt really hot and stuffy all of a sudden, filling his head with cotton. The image of pretty and beautiful and inhuman death filtered across his mind, mocking him, teasing him. "You're just trying to look cool by saying that gun is real, haha," he taunts, walking a very thin edge.

The man before him didn't move, his expression didn't change. An almost pitying smirk found its way onto his face, and he said, "I'm not the one trying to look cool. _Ciao_."

Skull couldn't form a coherent thought when the gun with off.

 _Bang_!

Right to the face, too. It was a rather quick, brutal, and for a brief nanosecond, _painful_ , way to go. Skull could handle pain, and nothing ever really phased him for long, especially after his first death. The image of death was forefront in his mind, something akin to desperation crawling up with the solid cold burn of wanting to meet him again, bursting in his chest. It clawed beneath his ribcage, tearing his lungs apart.

 _Death._

The white room was back, again. Skull had sat up, breathing tightly, and roamed his hands over his body. For a brief moment of dysphoria, he panicked, almost dropping into hysterics. But it was over as soon as it started, and he pressed his eyes tight against the throbbing white of the expandable room he had found himself in. It was rather desolate and empty, and Skull knew he managed to make it back to the place he had found himself after his first death. First things first, he threw his ruined helmet off, cracked over one side, dripping with black tar that was his blood.

Now he could breath more easily, as he peeled off his leather gloves to run a hand through sweaty hair. One side of his face was slick with a liquid, and Skull refused to let his fingers touch it, already knowing what he would find. He used one of his gloves to help mop it off his face, unhappy with the fabric for not really retaining the liquid as much as he'd like.

"Stupid prick," Skull muttered, thinking to the man he had just been murdered by. Not that Skull did much to help the situation, but- he was really curious now about who the hell that man was. Someone who was that self-important and murderous shouldn't have been wanting to hitch a ride on a motorcycle in some dank alley. He was probably running away from people, Skull concluded. And- well, his license plate was visible, and Skull could be tracked down to help track down that self-righteous asshole.

So in the end, he was just trying to tie up loose ends, and protect himself.

Unbeknownst to him, this is exactly what Skull wanted.

"Hello?" Skull called out into the white void, standing up on unsteady legs. He wobbled, and frowned as his head spun. "Death?" Excitement and slight apprehension was running through his blood, making him dart his eyes around the wide expanse of white, white, and would you look at that, more _white_! He remembers engaging in a debate with death, last time, about whether or not white was really a color.

 _White is just an absence of color_ , Skull had tried to explain.

Death was stubborn, surprisingly. He even ended the argument with a low-key threat, _I don't think you would want to argue with me_. That shut Skull up pretty good, making him examine death's pale and tense features, an eternity haunting over his shoulders.

"We meet again," came death's dry voice, making Skull whirl around with a wide grin. He only raised an eyebrow at Skull's open gesture for a hug, crossing his own arms and frowning critically at him. "You didn't come here by yourself, did you?"

"No, no, I brought a friend," Skull replied. "He's around here somewhere."

"Great," death deadpanned. He sighed, pressing his eyes shut tight. "What are you doing here again, Ch-"

"Skull," Skull interrupts before his previous name could fall from death's lips. "My name is Skull now, believe it," he winks at Death, who looked unamused as always. "The most supreme and the most awesome Skull-sama," he continues, puffing himself up.

Death's lips quirked up, slightly. "You're unbelievable," he tells him. He eyes him, still reproachful as before. His feathered hair and jaded green eyes didn't change, nor did his dark and rather outdated outfit, its origins unknown to Skull. Which was fair considering Skull didn't know shit about fashion. "Is that some sort of _plume de nom_?"

"A plum what now?" Skull returns, blinking.

"A pen name," death huffed.

"Oh. Sort of." Skull shrugs. "It's full title is Skull de Mort," he informs, with a slight wiggling of his eyebrows. It was still a rather foreign motion for his face, because he never did the whole wiggling eyebrows thing as his past self. "Get the reference?"

"Wow," the being replies. "Lemme guess, it's the _de Mort_ part, isn't it? Please tell me if I'm wrong." His words made red creep up from Skull's neck, burning his ears; he laughed, sheepishly. Death sighed. "I thought I told you I didn't want to see you here again, at least- not until it's time," he admits, uneasily.

Skull hums. "But I wanted to see you again," he enthuses. Death twitched, sending him a withering glare. The harsh change of mood didn't really deter Skull that much, used to most people in real life turning on him like that.

"I thought you said that you didn't come here by yourself," death warns, threateningly.

"It wasn't suicide again, I swear," Skull declares, making death's shoulders hunch in on himself, the same defeated posture as before slowly seeping back to him. He sniffs and tosses his head the other way, refusing to meet Skull's earnest gaze. "It was much more innocent than that," he continued.

"Death is hardly innocent," death tells him, tonelessly. Factually. Skull smiles, a bit bitter and wistful at the distant atmosphere death was giving off. _So close, yet so far_ , Skull thought, absently.

"Ain't that the truth?" Skull responds. "But I didn't kill myself this time around." At least, not physically. He didn't perform the act himself, nor could he really be blamed for this death this time around. Just a cocky young stuntman who was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. If Skull was right in concluding that he was going to die either way, then it wouldn't have mattered how he had acted in his last few moments.

Death mused, "So how did you die this time around?"

"Someone shot me in the face," Skull tells him, too cheerful for someone who literally just died for a second time. Death huffs, eyes trailing towards the abandoned and cracked helmet, a slight pooling of dark blood already seeping from it. It was a jarring sight against the pristine white floor, and death frowned. He walked towards it, picking it up with a gentleness that made Skull hitch a breath. His eyes were riveted as death's fingers trailed across the damage done by the gun.

When death gave him back his helmet, it was good as new.

"So, how did you end up in a position where someone shot you in the face?" Death inquires, lightly. His eyes were distant and saw through him, and Skull shifted, rather uncomfortable at his disapproving gaze.

"Chance," Skull tells him.

"Lies," death replies. His pretty green eyes narrowed at him, mouth pursed tightly. "You were searching me out," he said, factually. "You were looking to die," he sounded a bit put off, making Skull shift slightly. "You were looking for me," death admits, uneasily and quietly.

Skull chances a slight 'heh'. "You'd be great at fortune telling, you know. You should think about taking some classes," he tells him. "You'll do great."

Death's lips quirked, despite how troubled his expression became. "I already did, once upon a time," he said, voice distant as himself. Skull licked dry lips, staring intently at death, who wouldn't meet his eyes. Long and dark lashes brushed against pale skin, death's eyes were lowered and contemplative. Dark with thoughts, with something wholly inhuman, Skull felt captivated.

At last, death moved away, pressing a firm hand against Skull's chest.

"It does not do to dwell upon dreams, and to forget to live," he says, softly. His eyes were hard and swirling with an unknown emotion that Skull couldn't place. "Don't look for me again," he continued. "You're lucky enough to survive me once again."

"I was already lucky enough to meet you," Skull says, feeling oddly unhappy at being sent back to the realm of the living. Death's expression didn't change, and Skull sighed, holding his helmet underneath one arm. "I can't make any promises," he tells him.

Death's expression broke into smaller pieces, and the loneliness that Skull could match to his own was there. Skull could see the rocks crumbling down the dark chasm, into the darkness of a humane emotion. It frightened and enraptured him, the want to be as close as death as he did. There was something more there, something more to this being who was called death, and Skull wanted to unravel it all.

He wanted to see him again.

Death, probably already seeing whoever he was, all he could be, didn't look all that surprised at this. His smile was slightly broken, torn in such a way that Skull wanted to kiss away the sadness lurking there, brush his lips against his own.

Before Skull left, with one last melancholic and somehow sardonic wave at him, he said, "death isn't really my name, you know." It was almost taunting, almost teasing, and left Skull sputtering, eyes going wide with disbelief.

Of course, that's what death, whose name wasn't really death, left him with.

-0-0-0-

Skull had awoken in an alley, with his renewed helmet and a peeled off licence plate. The smell of blood and gunpowder was prevalent in the air, and his bike was gone. His skin felt sticky and grimey, and he stared up at the night sky, breathing shallow and soft.

All in all, it was a successful night in Skull's opinion.

 _If death's name isn't death, then what is it_?

-0-0-0-

The night Skull died a second time was extremely effective and successful, especially when he ran into the man who killed him a few months later. It was fucking _hi-larious_ , with the slight widening of his eyes, his expression dropping into brief shock. Skull grinned himself silly, waving at the self-righteous prick for good measure. To be honest, Skull didn't give much thought into the man who had killed him after that night. He had bought another bike, and went back to stunt riding, and dreaming of meeting death again.

But as all good things go in life- this backfired on him.

Badly, he might add.

"You were dead," the man hisses, lowly, threatening him in his little trailer. It was a circus event, a few days after they met eyes again in a crowded market in France. Skull twitches, hands held up defensively. "You weren't supposed to survive."

"Skull-sama never dies!" Skull boasted. Not for long, anyways. "Do you think a mere bullet can take down the awesomeness that is _moi_? Think again! Kyahahaha, got you good, didn't I?" _You self-righteous prick_.

The man twitches, before backs off. His gun was still in his hands, though. He looked at him consideringly, giving Skull a chance to stare right back. His outfit didn't change much, still the same tightly pressed and hardly ruffled suit from before. His fedora was stylish, and hung cooly on his head, making Skull want to get a cool hat as well. But- stunt riders never really go for the cool accessories such as hats, much preferring helmets and other things to help protect their head.

Skull's helmet never broke, after his encounter with death-whose-name-isn't-really-death.

Skull didn't want to say it was magic, but it _totally fucking was_. Skull felt a bit proud and happy at the fact that death had charmed his helmet, probably intent on making it safer than it already was. It was the thought that counted, and thus- Skull never took off his helmet anymore. Every once in awhile, when he felt too gross after not taking off his helmet in a while- then _maybe_ , he'd take it off to take a shower. A proper one, at that.

But until then, it stayed stubbornly on.

 _For good luck_ , he'd say.

At last, the man smirks. "You might be useful yet, lackey," he says, haughtily. "A lackey who never dies," he continued, thoughtful. His dark eyes, as pretty as they were, made Skull bristle and give his own hostile stare back. Not that the man could see it behind his helmet, anyways.

"Lackey?" Skull exclaims, loudly. "Are you offering to be my lackey? That's fucking awesome!"

A bullet whizzed by, brushing against Skull's skin in a burning matter. It was a very precise bullet, didn't graze anything but his skin and tore through his suit. It was also very telling in the fact that this man was trying to prove a point. Skull, willingly, complied and played his part quite well, in his opinion.

"H-ha," Skull managed. "You- you missed!"

The man smirks. "I never miss," he tells him. Skull mentally rolled his eyes, but pressed himself tightly against the vanity behind him anyways. He gripped the edges, nervously, and the prick looked momentarily satisfied. Sadistic, huh?

"That was an exception?" Skull offered, and the man scoffed, rudely.

"No, lackey, I _never_ miss," he insists. "Take off your helmet," he orders, then. It makes Skull sputter, crossing his arms defensively.

"What the hell? No," Skull snaps, making the man raise an eyebrow. Skull puffs himself indignantly. "The great Skull never takes orders, and I don't even know you! This is harassment, I could call the cops on you," he threatens, making the man roll his eyes. It shouldn't have looked as good as it did on him, but it conveyed the same condescending meaning well.

"My name is Renato, I'm the world's greatest hitman," the man introduced himself with a lazy smirk. An arrogant one. "As the title implies, going to the police force could hardly hold a candle to one such as myself." He leaned forward, dark eyes glaring and burning, making Skull scuttle backwards, practically tipping the vanity behind him over. "You'll want to be on my side, I promise you."

What. An. Arrogant. Ass.

Skull scoffs. "You're delusional!"

Of course, that translates well to Renato. _Not_. The bastard shot him, again, and this time in the side, making Skull sputter and dodge the fuck out of the way. It was a burning and sharp pain, but nothing could really phase Skull that much anymore. On the plus side, he thought as he hide behind his vanity, slumping to the ground. He might get to see death again, and he'd have an interesting story to tell as well. _The same man as before shot me!_

He wondered how that would go over with him.

Renato came over to his side, staring down at him. Both literally and figuratively, by the way, and Skull glared at him. "Take off your helmet now," Renato orders. "I need to be able to recognize your face," he supplies, making Skull growl, low in his throat.

If anything, the man looked more amused. Like Skull was a puppy snarling at a larger feral dog- which, he probably was, but Skull died twice. He could handle this pompous ass. Besides, he felt faint anyways, and would probably die from bloodloss and shock at this rate.

Skull took off his helmet with slow difficulty, the pain in his side flaring as he did so. Renato hummed, staring at him- or more specifically, his hair. His hair wasn't always like this, by the way. The brightly dyed hues had only came out after his first death, a very jarring and unique purple. His eye color had changed as well, burning a vibrant hue of the same shade. It was kind of awesome, and Skull had built his persona around the color just a tiny bit. Purple was associated with royalty, and the suffix _-sama_ was a bit of royalty in Japanese, he thinks. So it all comes together, yay!

Skull was fucking clever, wasn't he?

"Cloud flames, huh?" Renato mused. "I would have figured Sun. I never met an inverted Cloud, before," he was talking more or less to himself, and Skull rolled his eyes. Of course, this action was now seen by Renato, and he took a menacing step forward.

"Like I said before," Skull said, before something cottoned in his throat. He spat out a glob of blood, and mucus, making him shudder and look away. He stared at Renato, feeling the faint chill of death growing underneath his skin, burning in his chest. "De-lu-sion-al," Skull pronounced slowly.

Renato raised an eyebrow. "You're not in much of a position to talk, are you?"

Skull would have replied in a bland voice didn't join in, coming from beside Skull. It was death, whose name wasn't really death. His feathered dark hair, and jaded green eyes stared critically up at Renato, and then turned his reproachful stare onto Skull. Skull's neck had almost cracked with how fast he turned his head to meet death's stare, eyes going wide. "Have a penchant for trouble, don't you?"

Skull chuckled, weakly. "Yeah," he says. Both of Renato's eyebrows were raised now. Death gave the man a dry stare, fingers coming to poke the wound in Skull's side, prodding. Skull hisses. "Ow," he whines. "That hurts."

"I would have thought you'd be a masochists after all this time, chasing after me," death huffs. Skull spared Renato a glance, wondering how'd he react to seeing death. Death rolls his eyes. "He can't see me, only you." He gave Renato a bland glance once more. "He's the one who shot you before, isn't he?"

"Bingo," Skull enthuses. "What gave it away? Him standing before me with a gun as I lay bleeding, or was is something in his eyes?" Death gave him a slight scowl, making Skull huff in amusement. "I thought- what are you doing-..." his words were cut off by a gurgle of blood, making death roll his eyes.

"I sensed a disturbance in the force," death replies. "Actually, I sensed that my favorite troublemaker was about to be in trouble again. Might as well prevent you dying again by coming right to the source, right?"

Skull only had caught one part of the sentence. "Is it really true? I'm your _favowite_ person?"

"Troublemaker," death corrects. His eyes were distant, and his voice became so as well. "You still need to learn to live with your dying will," he intones, hand pressing against Skull's wound. Skull shrugged, wincing slightly.

"I live to see you," Skull admits.

"I think the correct term is that you're dying to see me," death mutters, making Skull grin slightly. "I get it, I do, I'm amazing, and cool. But we really have got to stop meeting like this," he tells Skull, seriously.

"Then how about a date?" Skull asked, making the being huff slightly.

"Will that stop you from dying over and over again?" Death asks, dryly.

"...Maybe?" Skull shrugs, again. The light was fading, and Renato was still watching him converse with- well, it probably looks like he was talking to himself. Maybe the delusional one was himself, huh. "Or you could tell me your name," he offers, brightly.

Death stared at him, hand still pressed tightly into his side. For some reason, that spot felt really tingly and warm, and felt like something was being sucked to that spot. It- it was an odd feeling, and Skull was feeling momentarily dazed and weirded out as he glanced at where they connected. It was- was that fire? Was that _purple_ fire? He met eyes with death, who only smirked slightly. His eyes were dark and contemplative, and Skull couldn't help but grin goofily back.

"My name is Harry," death told him. Skull felt enlightened and happy that he finally knew death's name, and he was only momentarily distracted when he glanced down and saw that his wound had been- healed? "Repaired," Harry said, answering Skull's unspoken question.

"Huh, that's really fucking neato," Skull muttered. "So about that- date-..."

Harry was gone. And all that was left was Renato, who was staring at him in a weird way. There was an uncomfortable and awkward air in the room now, and Skull shifted, gingerly getting up on his two feet and brushing himself off. He briefly wondered why no one had came to check up on him if they heard the gunshot, but deemed that wasn't too important at the moment.

Skull met Renato's judging eyes, and smiled weakly.

"I- I can explain...?"

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you want to do on stories that you read.

If you want an idea, or to continue something, just PM or leave a review. Or link me, either one, haha.

;D

-mms


	2. Twisted Irony

Written on Thrown Away Napkins

 _Twisted Irony_

 _This story isn't edited in any way, shape, or form._

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own HP, KHR, or any of its wonderful characters.

 **Characters:** Sepira, Kawahira, Dursleys, Harry Potter.

 **Warnings:** Reincarnation. Unfinished. Fem!Harry Potter. MAJOR AU.

 **A/N:** lol it's my birthday today. I'm officially over my 'teenage' angst years. Which means I'm 20. Yay, go me. Anyways, I wrote this unfinished story because I wanted a KHR female character being reborn into the HP world, like Sepira or Elena. And for said character to return to the mafia world, and be like, "wHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE-" Sad to say that this is unfinished, and will likely remain unfinished due to my inability to carry a story, lmao.

Anyways.

Enjoy!

* * *

Hyacinth Lily Potter was born bright and bubbly.

Lily was delighted, James was- well, he was happy and excited too, but he felt a bit disappointed that it wasn't a son that he was betting for. But whatever! Girls can kick ass too, he'll plant a love for his pranks and Quidditch in his little girl before Lily's stubborn and stiff ways set in. He'll make sure of it. Not- not that Lily's ideals wasn't bad, or anything...

Both of the new parents shared a look, pausing briefly between their cooperative cooing at their (their!) child. Lily looked haggard and tired, and damn, if she didn't endear herself more to James. Still, there was a slight suspicious narrowing of her eyes, as if suspecting James's line of thought. He offered a crooked and wan smile back, slightly nervous.

"I- I don't even want to know," Lily murmured, rolling her eyes.

"What is there to know?" James agreed, with a slight chuckle. He focused back onto his nursing baby girl, and practically melted all over again. "She's so perfect," he admitted, with a sort of awe as he trailed his finger down Hyacinth's cheek. She squirmed and he pulled back, inwardly squealing and melting all over again.

"Hm," Lily stared down at their daughter. "She is perfect, isn't she? Even her birthmark is a perfect flower." It was dark, and it contrasted greatly with the pinkish white of Hyacinth's skin. The birthmark was a perfect symbol, almost looking like a tattoo.

It was a bit unnerving to see, especially with Dumbledore's prophecy hanging over their heads.

 _Was this a sign_?

James swallowed, somber and serious. "We won't let anyone hurt her," he promised, more to himself than his wife. He wouldn't let anyone hurt his family. Especially not Hyacinth.

"Of course we won't," Lily replied, that same fire that he fell in love with so many years ago in her eyes, in her voice. She wilted back against the bed, both of them in their protected home when the birth took place. One of James's house elf has helped with the birth, and was now fiddling around the room, cleaning up and glancing over worriedly.

"Dumbledore is going to want to meet her," James reminded, settling into the bed beside Lily. Lily shuffled to the side, cradling a dozing Hyacinth closely. He wrapped an arm around her tired shoulders, letting her rest her head. How can everything feel so right, and yet still fill him with such dread?

 _Damn he-who-shall-not-be-named_.

"I'm surprised your gang of friends aren't already here," Lily snorted, dry and bland. Tiredly. "I'm sure they'll be surprised and disappointed Hyacinth is a her," she said, knowingly. James laughed, receiving a sharp elbow into his side. He quieted, and watched Hyacinth squirm a bit, before settling back down. She was wrapped tight in a blanket, and despite the horrifying visage of her being born in blood and goo- she was cute now! Her hair was nice, dark, and curly, coming off her head in small tufts.

"Surprised, maybe, disappointed? Not Remus," James admitted. "But I'm starting to think that bet was rigged, he's a werewolf. He probably did some werewolf mojo to find out or something," he huffed, good-naturedly.

"Werewolf mojo," Lily repeated, disbelieving. "You're such an idiot," she laughed.

" _Your_ idiot," James grinned. "And now- hers," he stared at his dozing baby. His baby. _Their_ baby. Filled with a sappy and soggy emotion, flooding his chest, he smothers a kiss into Lily's temple, grinning against clammy and hair matted skin. "You guys are awesome," he gushed, sweet.

"I know, sweetie, I know," Lily laughs, a bit dazed and tired. She looked a blink away from following Hyacinth into dream land. "You are too," Lily replied, and James grinned, not responding. He stayed up, watching his sleeping family, arm going numb and tingly but not daring to move it.

James couldn't help but feel the dread pool, dark, cold, and heavy in his gut.

 _He just hoped he was 'awesome' enough to protect his family when it counts_.

-0-0-0-

Sepira died, as all things do.

It was apart of life, and even though she had some regrets when she died, she couldn't bring herself to trouble with them any longer. Kawahira wasn't going to change his mind, nor was Sepira. Humans couldn't help their existence as much as they could have helped with their species extinction. At the very least, Sepira wanted to help them take care of the world they all existed in. And help them, she did. She was sure her descendants will follow in her footsteps, and was finally at peace with everything in her life, especially her regrets.

So yeah, she died.

It was a surprise when she was reborn, though.

 _Oh, magicals_. How _wonderful_!

Sepira wasn't lying, she was genuinely excited for her new life. Especially being apart of a race so human and wonderful such as magicals. They always intrigued her, despite their rather sad past and history with being burned at stake. Kawahira never cared much for people in general, in regular mortals that now walked the earth alongside them. He had used their excessive violence towards the magicals as an example of them being mindless and violent idiots, unable to stand anything different from themselves. The irony of that was lost upon him when Sepira used his argument against him, holding onto the hope and belief that not every human was the same.

Giotto and his band of vigilantes were proof of that. Sepira had gifted them with the Vongola Rings, trusting them to not use their power for evil. And to be able to help support the Tri-ni-set.

Life as a baby was disconcerting, and Sepira couldn't remember much.

But as her newer body developed, she was able to stay up for longer periods. Then she learned her new name, Hyacinth Lily Potter. The lily part was a pleasant surprise, and she was inwardly pleased with her middle name. She was even more outworldly pleased with her mother's name, the woman was as sweet and fiery and such a perfect mother that Sepira silently reveled in the attention. Her father was an also amazing person, with a playful expression on his face, and including her on his small prank quests around the house they never left. He'd fake whisper at her his ideas and plans, and both of them would watch Lily and other visitors suffer from his ideas.

Life was perfect, and Sepira could never understand how Kawahira hated humans.

Maybe if Sepira had noticed more of the tenser undertones of this new life, the dark and somber silences, instead of reveling in the fact that she was gifted with such a nice life- maybe things would have been different. Or, at least, the night where everything fell apart wouldn't have come as such a surprise to her.

She can just imagine Kawahira laughing at her, telling her in a sly way, _I told you so_.

Life, Sepira decided, as Hyacinth Lily Potter was a series of rather unfortunate events.

-0-0-0-

The Dursleys were probably the epitome of human ugliness that Kawahira envisioned.

Still, Sepira forgave them regardless. While she wasn't thrilled about being literally dumped into their care after her new parents were brutally murdered by a madman, she couldn't bring herself to hate them. Petunia had lost her sister, as jealous of said sister that she was. She had to have at least a bit of sentimentality when it came to her sister's daughter, and had even stopped her husband and son from physically abusing her.

Vernon was the least liked Dursley, Sepira decided. His son Dudley was easier to handle, a child copying their parents method and view of her wasn't surprising. He didn't know any better. Still, though, Sepira could have done without all of 'Hyacinth Hunting' he and his friends partook in.

Luckily today, Sepira was stuck outside in the garden.

Dudley and his lot would much rather stay in the cooler house. English houses, surprisingly, didn't have air conditioning. Not that Sepira had the benefits of that in her past life, but she heard about it from an American transfer student who complained so often about this fact. Air Conditioning sounded wonderful, and Sepira was struck with awe at humanity's advancement in technology.

Petunia was less strict today considering that her husband was stuck at work, pulling a double shift well into the weekend on an error made by an intern. She was displeased at this revelation because her husband's displeasure was always her own. Still, she shoved her outside after allowing her to have more at breakfast today, and occasionally stuck her head out of the backdoor, craning her long neck to get a good glimpse at Sepira.

Sepira always chanced a wave at her, and Petunia's lips would curl, expression souring. She'd duck back inside without a word, and Sepira would laugh, amused.

Today's work was working on the garden. It was hot considering it was summer, nearing the end of July. Sepira's new birth date was coming up, and she was highly doubting that the Dursley's have a change of heart now towards it. No matter, she'll celebrate it by herself in her own way. Perhaps she could wheedle out a day to herself, and go explore Little Whinging. She was wondering if she could somehow look up the Vongola Vigilante group, or her own Famiglia, but she highly doubted it considering her low aptitude towards modern technology.

It was a small wish of hers to reconnect to her past, somehow. Sepira wouldn't know how to go about it, but she had no desire to really involve herself in such matters. She'd rather check-up and make sure everything was going great, and resolved to finish her newest life to the best of her abilities. Sepira would enjoy her life as Hyacinth Lily Potter, and perhaps meet up with Kawahira in their afterlife, and brag to him about how great this life as a magical was.

Speaking of!

Magic thrummed in her newest body. It hummed in her fingertips, and Sepira could practically feel it vibrate in the air. It was like awakening a new sense of feeling, always there and probably wouldn't have been noticeable if Sepira didn't have her past experience to fall back on. Her newest mother and father had wands to focus their magic, and Sepira wondered if she should get one. She didn't know where to start, though, and she was growing rather impatient with all this waiting. Lily and James had bragged about a magical school, where she'd learn how to control her magic.

It sounded amazing.

Until then, Sepira had to wait. For what, she didn't know. While she couldn't practice with her magic without a wand, that doesn't mean she couldn't practice with her Flames. She was once again graced with Sky Flames, and briefly wondered why she thought they'd ever change, rebirth or not. While most humans needed some type of ring, or focus, to help channel their Flames, Kawahira and her were usually the exceptions to that. Now, though, Sepira was nervous about how her newest body's ability to handle and create their Flames as much as she could in her past life.

So she was experimenting on the garden, infusing the flowers with Sky Flame. It came rather easily, which made Sepira droop in relief. She had an apparently very strong Dying Will to be able to generate Sky Flames without a focus, and she inwardly beamed, proud of herself. Last life, she had thought that being of another species more acquainted with their Flames had attributed to the fact of being able to summon Flames without a focus was hereditary.

Now, she found out that she just had a very strong Dying Will.

Now, though, Sepira couldn't help but link her newest life's misfortune as the infamous Potter luck. Experimenting with her Sky Flames had its drawbacks as well, especially at such a young age. Someone from the mafia and lower echelons were bound to notice how pure her Flames were in this small dreary and normal town of Little Whinging.

And notice they did.

Or rather, should she say, _it_ did.

-0-0-0-

Kawahira was at his wits end.

For some reason, he felt like pulling out his hair. The Sky Pacifier had rejected Aria's flames, apparently choosing another unlucky Sky to be their candidate instead of the very strong and grieving Sky beside them. While he was felt a bit foolish for not thinking of this outcome beforehand, leaving him floundering and attempting to track down the unlucky bastard the Pacifier took a liking to, he couldn't help but feel as if he'd been in this situation before.

Bah. Whatever.

The Pacifier had lead him to a small town in Surrey, England. He carefully shielded himself from view and lurked outside cookie-cutter houses, disdainfully. Humans, Kawahira thought, were quite unoriginal. Almost like sheep, they flocked together and prided themselves in a sense of 'community', and almost always disregarded the existences of others who differed from their status quo.

With a bitter swallow, shallowly feeding the Sky Pacifier with his Mist Flames, he followed the allure of a pure Sky Flames to a garden behind one of the unoriginal houses. Now that he was in vicinity, he could have easily tracked down the Sky by himself. Something about them was softly edged, almost scented, and Kawahira had to swallow the revulsion at the vivid reminder of Sepira's own Flames.

At the thought of his past friend, he found himself hating the Sky more than ever.

Sepira and he had opposing views on humanity. His was more reasonable, more realistic; humans ruin everything as they were designed to, what they were seemingly meant for. And had the arrogance to think that they were doing the world a service just by existing. Sepira was more of the optimistic person out of the two, always giving humans a second chance. She seemed blinded and delusional at her own ideals, almost projected her own kindness onto the selfish vain humans that it got onto Kawahira's nerves.

Now she was gone, and her decedents were suffering from an ill-fated liking of the Sky Pacifier.

Kawahira appeared behind the- _shit_ , it's a child. A child whose back was turned towards him, lacing flowers together in such an innocent gesture that made Kawahira twitch. He glanced down at the Sky Pacifier, and then back up at the oblivious child.

He steeled himself. It was only fair that the humans help keep balance in the world that they're helping destroy, he reminded himself. Kawahira was about to release his Mist Flames before the child glanced back, eyes sharpening on him. That shouldn't be possible considering the fact that he was still using his Mist Flames to conceal himself. But the moment striking green eyes met his, a familiar visage overlaid the child's face, Kawahira's own Flames sputtered and died out, leaving him incredibly bare to the world.

To _her_.

"Sepira?" Kawahira gasped out, taking a few untrained steps forward.

Despite a few subtle differences, she looked the same. Her hair was dark, darker than the bluish tint than before but still dark. It felt in a messy array of dark curls, framing a slightly malnourished face; her eyes were a bit too wide on her face, as it was. Instead of the soft blue eyes that her descendants carried, they were a striking green, like sunlight filtering through leaves. A jagged scar marred her forehead, looking like a lightning bolt. What really gave her away was the black tattoo of a lily underneath her right eye.

 _Sepira_.

"Kawahira...?" Sepira blinked, before springing up. Her laced flower crown fell from her lap, unfinished and forgotten. She looked a second away from charging at him, grinning silly. That was before she stopped, and composed herself, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin to stare imperiously at him. "Kawahira," she stated, more in control.

Kawahira made a choked noise in the back of his throat, still disbelieving.

 _What was she doing here_?

Sepira lost her composure and giggled wildly, covering her mouth with a dainty hand. It was small, slender fingered; dirty, though. "Surprise," Sepira enthused, laughter still bubbly in her voice. She did a small twirl, lifting up her overly baggy shirt in flourish. "It's a nice surprise, isn't it?"

"Y-yeah," Kawahira receded in on himself, overwhelmed. He never thought he'd see his past friend again, _ever_. He always envisioned her in the afterlife, hating him, hating his work, hating what he was doing to their decedents-

Shit, shit, shit.

"Kawahira, how did you find me?" Sepira still looked happy, and Kawahira hated himself so much. Hated her, _how_ dare she be reborn and force him to do this? Hated the world, hated fate, and hated himself a bit more. What type of irony was this? Forcing Sepira-

Sepira's eyes trailed down to the orange Pacifier, and her mouth parted in understanding. Kawahira curled his fist around the Pacifier, tightly.

"Sepira," Kawahira sounded so wounded, he felt ashamed. Did she know this was supposed to happen? Did she retain her ability to see into the future? By her surprised and mildly shocked look, he doubted it.

"Oh," Sepira laughed, weakly. The light in her eyes diminished, slightly. " _Oh_ ," she repeated, quietly. She stared at her feet, fists clenching at her side. Kawahira took a few more steps forward, unsure of what to do now. The Pacifier flickered in his palm, almost burning him, eager to latch onto Sepira.

Sepira always loved humans so much, could see a bright future for them.

And now she'll be forced to die for a world who wouldn't dare to understand the reason, for humans who probably didn't care and probably hoped for it. All so they could live another day. Kawahira felt the same old stomach churning anger, and wanted to throw the Pacifiers away, wanted to watch the world burn. He never did give into the urge before, due to wanting to protect what Sepira had deemed important enough to die for.

But this was just rubbing salt into the wound.

Sepira glanced up at him, her now green eyes burning with the same old fire as before. Her mouth was pressed in a grim smile, and she held out her hand. "I understand, Kawahira," Sepira admitted. "I understand, so I must accept. Give me the Pacifier. I'll do my best to help humanity move forward, even if it kills me."

Kawahira wanted to refuse.

The Sky Pacifier burned him.

Kawahira never thought he'd be broken so much over this turn of events.

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read.

Wreck me, man.

-mms


	3. Love yo'self

**Written on Thrown Away Napkins**

 _Love yourself_

 _This story isn't edited in any way, shape, or form._

 **Disclaimer** : I do not own KHR, HP, or any of their wonderful characters.

 **Characters** : Skull, Harry.

 **Warnings** : Implied selfcest. Unfinished. Random. Harry-is-Skull fic with a twist? ALSO kinda GAAAAAAY; aka, SLASH. So if that's not your cup of tea, don't read, lmao.

 **A/N** : I- I have no idea where I was going with this, lmao. I was telling myself to jump onto the bandwagon of writing a Skull-is-Harry fic, and this came out instead? IDK. I wanted to add a bit more to this story, but then realized that it was going to an overall place with unfinished stories and whatnots- it's been awhile since I produced anything less than 7,000 words, honestly.

Also! If anyone wants to take inspiration on any of these stories that I post here, or want to run off into the sunset with one of them- go ahead! All I ask is a link, and to be somewhat credited. :'D But mostly a link because I like reading. v.v

Enjoy!

* * *

Skull was in a cheap hotel when his alternate self dropped into his life.

He had finished a long regime of stunt riding with a company that toured around Europe and some of Russia. Ever since he started the season, he had been on a constant high and drive; it was okay, it wasn't like he had much of a life beyond his stunt bike. But now that he was left to his own devices, finally deciding to peel away from the Company that was getting a bit too comfortable to him, Skull had a chance to relax, and breathe.

So to be put shortly, his body ached like a _bitch_.

Something about always on the move, the adrenaline, the constant state of fear-induced high and near death experiences; Skull's muscles were always tense, always working. It seemed like everything ached and every single nerve of his body was trying to detach themselves from him.

After a long sleep, Skull had dragged himself to a shower and let the hot water soothe away the ache for a bit. He used the complimentary shampoos and conditioners, scowling when he realizes that his hair was fading, the purple dye running down the drain.

With that in mind, Skull avoided looking into the steamy mirror as he rushed out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. Another towel was wrapped around his hair, twisting up the thick locks upwards so Skull could avoid looking at it.

The chill of the hotel room made the ache come back, and Skull grumbled, collapsing back onto the bed. There was nothing he wanted more than to curl up back under the duvet, but he wanted to do some stuff today. He wasn't a teenager anymore, not being protected in the Home, and was allowed to slack off with his life like before; it was an independence he had craved and lusted after for many years, and he was happy to have it.

But it was awfully lonely, too.

Well, Skull told himself, it wasn't like he wasn't used to that feeling, anyways.

Just- just a few moments. Skull pressed his eyes closed. The bed was awfully tempting, though.

Maybe if Skull wasn't wandering the edges of dreamland, or if he had any more observational skills, he would have noticed the atmosphere in the room shift. Something like static ran across the room, and raised goosebumps over Skull's skin, making him shift uncomfortably.

 _Crack_

Skull's eyes snapped open, and he was about to sit up before something landed on him. Something, or _someone_ \- Skull grunted in pain and the person landed on him roughly with a grunt of his own, and Skull didn't waste no time in trying to throw off the other person. With a rough shove, the person compliantly fell away from him, landing on the hotel floor. Skull scrambled upwards, brain trying to process the situation.

Violet eyes met green, and it seemed like the world stopped.

The other male looked awfully familiar, but Skull couldn't really place a finger on why though. His hair was the same at Skull's natural hair, dark and messy. His face was remarkably like Skull's own appearance too, plain and painfully nondescript features; he would have been completely unremarkable like Skull was before he became who he was today. However, his face was also very expressive, youthful even, and there was a certain air of tiredness and being defeated carrying over in his posture, shown in his slightly hunched shoulders.

His green eyes were rather pretty, though.

Skull felt his face flush terribly when he realized that he was dressed rather promiscuously, with only a damp towel wrapping up his hair and around his waist. With a slow dawning of realization, he also recognized the feeling of _nothingness_ down around his hips, and that his towel had come undone down there when he had stood up. It pooled down by his feet, and Skull tried not to bring attention to his own horrible, horrible, realization.

It only grew worse when said pretty green eyes trailed downwards, and yep, he was totally looking at Skull's junk right now. Skull sputtered out of embarrassment, face heating up rapidly. He refused to let out a high pitched scream, nor did he hide his face or junk because dammit, he had his manly pride and wasn't embarrassed.

The other person's face reddened, and he had an awkward smile on his face. His eyes were suddenly averted off to the side, even as his face reddened and he chuckled weakly. "Heh," he said, and Skull, honestly, had enough.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my room?" Skull snapped, carefully undoing the towel on his head to wrap around his waist as casually as he could. There was no way in hell he was bending or kneeling down for the fallen towel, especially when the other person was still sitting sprawled out before him. Skull felt oddly like a laughed at stripper, and he scowled slightly, beyond flustered and unhappy.

There are only a few situations where he wanted to be in a cheap and quite shady hotel room, almost naked in front of another, honestly not-bad-to-look-at person, and _this_ wasn't said situation. In fact, it was far from it. So far from it that it was in a whole other world!

"My name is Harry," the man before him said, face still bent awkwardly away from staring at Skull. Skull momentarily paused, frowning slightly, before he continued to gather clothes from his forgotten duffle bag beside the door. Harry, huh? Small world... "And I don't know what I'm doing here."

"How did you even get in? You appeared out of nowhere! I thought someone was doing a drive-by!" Skull accused, stepping into the bathroom. He dropped the towel and quickly tried to dress himself as quickly as he could. His body felt so naked without clothes. And the scenario of the drive-by was uncalled for considering he was on the second floor.

Harry didn't respond, and when Skull exited the bathroom, he was staring outside the blinds of the motel curiously. Skull frowned. When they were both standing up, both of them were the same height as well. "I guess I was 'dropped' off," Harry finally said. "Which brings me to ask, who are you?"

Skull rolled his eyes, inwardly panicking at the question. And this situation. And said person who was in charge of putting him in this situation. This man didn't make any sense! "My name, you pleeb, is Skull de Mort! Otherwise known as the great Skull-sama," Skull emphasized this by jutting his chin up, squaring his shoulders proudly. He winked at Harry's bemused expression. "You might have heard about me, I'm the rising star of stunt riding!"

"Stunt riding?" Harry glanced away, eyes going dark and distant. His smile turned a bit flakier, falling a bit. "Skull de Mort? Of death?" There was an ironic twist to Harry's lips as he threw his head back and laughed, bitterly.

Skull frowned, indigent. "Yeah," he said, defensive. "What, is something wrong with it?" He scratched the back of his head. His new pen name was still shaky for him, and Skull had something resonate within him at choosing it. Something clicked into place; it was also gaudy and laughable, which fit for Skull's new life as an entertainer.

"Nothing is wrong," Harry calmed himself down. His grin was amused, wan, and still somehow tired. "It's just ironic to me. But if you don't mind me asking, what is your real name?"

Skull stiffened. "I do, in fact, mind you asking," Skull carefully worded. "You don't need to know it."

"I do, actually," Harry replied. "I'm your responsibility as of right now."

A pause.

"Wait, what?"

-0-0-0-

As it turns out, Harry is his alternate self who took a nope train to fuckthatville during a war in his world, and was given this second chance to live freely by death himself. As it also turns out, Harry was the Master of Death in the last life for accepting death so easily.

It seems like no matter which alternative self Skull had, they'd be associated with death on some level.

"I just have one more question," Skull declares, after the lengthy explanation and brief headache. Harry hums. "Is it masturbation if we had sex together? I mean, we're technically the same person here, and is it really sex if it's with yourself?"

Harry shrugs, after a long awkward and bewildered laugh. "I- I don't know," he admits, grinning despite how flushed his face was.

"...Wanna find out?"

"Oh my god, are you flirting with me?"

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do to stories that you read.

Take initiative and love yourself, people.

Even other versions of yourself.

(p.s thanks to all the birthday wishes! :D)

-mms


	4. Revive

**Written on Thrown Away Napkins**

 _Revive_

 _This story isn't unedited in any way, shape, or form._

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own KHR, HP, or any of its wonderful characters.

 **Characters:** Skull, pre!Arcobaleno, MOD!Harry.

 **Warnings:** GEN, brief mentions of gore. A brief allude to attempted suicide. MOD!Harry

 **A/N:** I'm cleaning out my archive of old fanfiction and untilted documents on Google Docs. I've been wanting to write a proper story with Skull and Harry, and looking back through it all- I have a lot of attempts, lmao. I don't even remember writing most of these old and unfinished stories. I have a lot of rough drafts for my other story, Dying Again.

If you guys wanna look at those, just tell me; I'll upload them here, lmao.

Enjoy!

* * *

Skull meets the rest of the Arcobaleno when he is 19, an upcoming and rising star to the world as the unkillable stuntman. His motto was, _even death hates me!_ Which was, actually, pretty debatable most of the time they met, but Skull can say that it was kind of close, considering how Skull manages to get underneath Death's skin.

His first impression: _scary_.

Second impression: _arrogant_.

Third impression: _wait_ , nevermind, _super scary_.

Skull could do arrogant. He was confident in his skills, often described as egotistical by Death, but whatever. Skull spent many years hating himself, and what he was to the world, and now that he had learned to love himself- well, let's just say that he won't be going back to that anytime soon. However, it seemed like the people here were beyond that, transcended the realm of arrogance and right into asshole-ish cockiness that made Skull bristle.

The only exception to this was, seemingly, Fon and Luce.

However, when Skull voiced this opinion, this ended up with a gun pressed delicately but staunchly to his temple. _Trigger-happy hitman_!? Renato, as he had declared himself, had a arrogant and assured look on his face, something sadistic lining his features as he sweetly asked Skull to repeat himself.

Skull wisely did not repeat himself.

Instead, he said, "Psch," he tried to flick it away from his temple. It didn't budge. E-er, okay. "What are you going to do, shoot me?" He mocked, partly because he had to say _something_ , and man, Skull wasn't that good at thinking up things on the spot in situations like this. Secondly, because he wasn't worried. Sure, brain matter will go _splat_ , along with bone fragments being shattered here and there, not to mention the burnt muscle and skin that will accompany a shot this close to him- that is all trivial compared to what would happen if he died, _again_.

Death, or Harry as Skull sometimes allowed himself to call him, would chide him.

 _God, he was sometimes worse than those attendants at the orphanage!_

"Don't tempt me," Renato said, all smooth and cool.

"Ah," Luce kindly intervened, smiling nervously. "Care to put the gun away, Renato? This is our first meeting, and I'm sure Skull didn't mean to say such rude words. Right, Skull?" Luce turned imploring eyes towards Skull, and Skull tried not to give into the flare of irritation and admiration.

"...Right," he finally conceded, unhappily. "It's not like he could kill me anyways." He added, in a spiteful afterthought.

The gun cocked ominously.

"I'm the World's Greatest Hitman," Renato told him, cockily. Assuredly. Skull tried not to sweat at that. "I'm pretty sure I can kill a no-name teenager with horrible fashion taste and bad hair job."

 _Wow_ , that was like- so rude.

"I'm," Skull declared, puffing his chest up. "I'm the unkillable stuntman, Skull! I'm practically immortal, even Death himself hates me!" Maybe. Probably. He gave off mixed signals, to be honest. "...And my hair job isn't bad! It's natural," Skull protested. "Unlike those curly fries you call sideburns."

Anger flashed through the hitman's face.

 _Fucking bring it-_

BANG.

 _Oh shit, he actually brought it_.

Being shot in the head wasn't that different from previous experiences. A sharp, and burning, stinging sensation, a heavy pressure and the sound of ringing in his ears- then nothing. The world he had learned to associate with Harry slowly burned into view, slowly blurring into focus every second that passed.

And sitting next to him, on the train station bench, was Death himself.

It was weird to see that Skull was physically older than Death, who still retained his 17 year old body and tired expression. The only thing that seemed to age with him was his eyes, which grew deeper and exhausted each time Skull was met with that burning gaze, almost as Harry was seeing through him rather than at him. Harry's thin mouth was pursed in a tight line, expression displeased and unhappy as he surveyed Skull.

Skull awkwardly waved and let the words tumble out of his mouth, "Hi, fancy seeing you here. Do you come here often?"

A dry look was what he got. "Only on Wednesdays," Harry replied, blandly. Skull cracked a grin at that. Harry's dry sense of humor was comforting and humorous. "What did you do this time?"

"Why do you think that _I_ did anything?" Skull shot back, defensively and as innocently as he could. Harry just kept on staring at him. "I, well, someone was pressing a gun into my head, and I was like, 'hey, what are you gonna do? Shoot me?', and well- he shot me."

A few moments passed as Harry processed this, his expression flickering between disbelief and unreadable.

At last, Harry blew out a sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Skull felt some sort of triumphed victory at this, despite feeling a bit guilty. "How can you be such an idiot?" Harry bemoaned, and yep, any guilt was gone.

"An _immortal_ idiot," Skull responded. _That_ justified anything he did because he had no real worldy consequences for his actions.

The look on Harry's face said otherwise, though.

There was a long pause. Each second made Skull feel a bit more awkward. Each second, the searing gaze of Harry's sunlight filtered eyes, so bright that they glowed in the dim fog that was slowly overtaking the train station, burned into him.

At last, Harry let a out a laugh. A hollow, twisted, little sound that went strangely well with Harry's crooked smile.

"How do you think you look?" Harry asked, voice barely indistinguishable from the fog.

"Handsome," was Skull's response. His voice was loud and jarring against the train station, beating across the damp pavement and clawing at the walls.

"Yes, I suppose," Harry murmured, carefully. "But I guess I really meant to ask was how do you think you look like to _me_?"

The question made Skull pause.

What did he look like to Death?

Skull didn't think that Harry could see the world differently. Perhaps that have been rather short-sighted of him considering that he had been assuming that Harry, Death himself, saw the world like him. He, of course, long acknowledged the fact that Harry wasn't anything remotely close to human, despite his rather humane habits and emotions. Or maybe Skull had been tricked by those very habits into thinking that Harry had been his equal in every way, despite his title. After all, who else in the world could tangle with Death like this, to be able to hold conversations and sometimes go out for tea with?

Skull shrugged, at last. "I dunno, purple?"

Harry's smile lacked in true humor. "Dead," he answered simply.

That was- er, okay.

"Dead," Skull repeated, dubiously. Well, he guessed he could be considered dead, with him sitting with Death like this. But Skull never really coincided the word dead with himself, it was too absurd considering that he was immortal.

"Dead," Harry confirmed, turning his tired gaze away from him. "Each of your injuries are plain to see, especially in this place," he gestured vaguely out towards the empty and ghostly train station they were in. "You're soaked in blood to me," Harry said, quietly, distant eyes staring off into an indeterminable space in front of them. Into the thick fog, and cool mist.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

"Does it disturb you?" Skull asked, a bit put out at this new revelation. He patted himself down, taking off his gloves to press fingers across his skin. He prodded his previous kill marks, and couldn't feel anything amiss. The rope burn and bruised skin from his first death wasn't there, his ribs weren't crushed and poking at his lungs, and blood and brain matter wasn't leaking out of a hole from his head.

Harry shot him a bland look. "...It really should," Harry admitted, more to himself than Skull. He sighed, and shook his head, dark tousled hair falling into his eyes. Brushing it out of eyes, Harry addressed him again. "You need to go back."

"Don't I always?" Skull grinned. "Ah, but it's going to be, like, so awkward now."

"Whose fault was that?" Harry grumbled. "You're the one who provoked it this time around. You deal with the consequences."

"Will we meet again?" Skull asked, getting up and stretching. Harry's deep and distant gaze bore into him, an unknown and trembling emotion swimming in them. His expression was rather pinched and his mouth was pressed into a thin line, a tired expression lining his pale face.

"I hope not," was Harry's response, making Skull grin.

"I'll expect you to come visit me sometime soon, then," Skull enthused, before heading towards the exit of this place. He needed to go explain himself to the Arcobaleno, and sincerely hoped they wouldn't press any deep information about his 'immortality', because Skull didn't honestly know much about that.

Still, Skull was looking forward to reviving himself this time around.

If only to see the look on Renato's face.

* * *

Favorite, follow, review, or whatever you do on stories that you read.

I might update a few more times today, seeing as of that I'm clearing out my Docs today.

;a;

-mms


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